The Drunkard Series
by DameLeader
Summary: Each chapter is about a different Cirque Du Freak character and what they act like when they're horribly drunk. WARNING: HEAVY DRINKING, STRONG LANGUAGE, SUGGESTIVE THEMES, BAR FIGHTS AND OOC PEOPLE. Nonetheless, it'll be funny.
1. Darren Shan

1st Drunkard: **Darren Shan**

It was time for the Festival of the Undead and every vampire within Vampire Mountain knew that this festival called for one thing: _ale. _There were barrels filled to the brim of ale stored especially for this event. They were practically untouched, and were not touched because of the vampires who only wished to gulp them down within the 4-day range of the Festival. Strangely enough, the vampires only bothered with wine when they wanted to relax or look sophisticated. If they wanted to drink themselves senseless, they immediately went for the ale. They skipped all other alcohol beverages. There was something about ale that vampires especially liked.

Today was the first day to kick off the Festival. The barrels were being brought out and the bar fights and drunken games began. Almost every vampire within Vampire Mountain was lugging around a full barrel of ale on their shoulder. Since the ale was fresh and of good quality, everyone rushed to the bar to acquire a barrel of their own. Among these vampires, was the youngest of them all.

Darren Shan, the new addition to the league of Vampire Princes, was also one of the vampires with a barrel of ale on his shoulder. The only difference was Larten Crepsley, his vampire tutor, was sharing the barrel with him. In a few minute's time, the two had washed down three whole barrels of ale together.

"Hey, hey Laaaarrtenn," Darren slurred, putting his hand on Larten Crepsley's shoulder. "Duuude, why'd ya quit on bein' a prince? It's friggin' epic!" He tried not to trip over his own feet.

"Princes are chumps," Larten said bitterly as he gulped down even more ale.

"Nahh, duuude, it's da best!" Darren boasted, smiling droopily. With that, he handed the barrel that he'd been holding to Larten and pounced on the table. "Hey, yew guys!" he yelled. "Check out ma _mad skillz!_" With that said, he pranced around the table like a knight on his horse in an attempt to dance. He kicked all the mugs off the table and bellowed, "Mugs are for losers! We got _barrels!_" He pranced around the table multiple times for a few minutes. Then, he attempted to rip his shirt off but had such bad coordination due to the ale that he kept letting go of his shirt before he could tear it off.

After a while, when he got bored of dancing, he hopped off the table and skipped out of the bar like a little girl. He jumped over drunk vampires wrestling on the floors, dodged flying wine glasses, and still managed to keep his rhythm. It was quite surprising since just a few minutes ago, he couldn't even rip his shirt off.

Not being able to control himself any longer, he began to sing:

"_Yes, I am a prince! _

_But not just any prince! _

_I'm the Prince of Aaaaaale~!_

_The best kind of prince._

_The prince the ladies love. _

_The Prince of Aaaaaaale~! _

_The prince don't need no princess but if so _

_then she'd be the bestest _

_she'd be the princess__—__Princess of Wiiiiine~! _

_But the prince, the prince of Ale's gonna be single toniiiight~! _

_That don't bother me! I got ale! _

_Even better yet, yes I'm the prince of it. Prince of Aaaaaale~!"_

Maybe if there really _was_ a "Princess of Wine", she'd be singing, too.


	2. Larten Crepsley

2nd Drunkard: **Larten Crepsley**

"And then, yer not gonna believe this: she said she _loved _me! Who in the _world _would love _me_?"

A drunk Larten Crepsley was explaining his situation to a not-as-drunk Paris. Paris was only a tiny bit drunk but not enough to make him as big a fool as Larten. He tried to talk with a sober tongue.

"Women are unpredictable, aye?" Paris asked, taking a sip of wine.

"_Aye_!" Larten boomed. "Why love _me _of all people? What have I done that is so wonderful that it would make a woman fall in love with me? It makes no sense!"

Paris simply nodded his head and expected to hear out Larten's drunken rant.

"It should've at least been Arra!" Larten declared.

Paris froze. Was Larten admitting his feelings for another woman?

"At least she is not a _child_! And she is far prettier. The one woman that Quicksilver cannot have is the one woman that Quicksilver wants!" Larten hissed, banging his fist on the table. "But this _child_—this _little girl_—I have no such feelings for." Before Paris could say anything, Larten ordered more ale. Paris sighed. He really did wish to get himself so drunk that by morning, he wouldn't be able to remember that this day ever happened.

Soon enough, after a few more mugs of ale (the bartender wouldn't allow people to drink from barrels of it), Larten was sitting at the opposite end of the bar on a giant red couch, surrounded by ladies. He was drunker than ever, but the ladies didn't seem to mind.

"I am the great Quicksilver and Quicksilver shall not belong to _any _woman!" he cried, getting the attention from the ladies. "No woman will be able to keep Quicksilver all to herself!" He smirked and added, "Quicksilver lives to please the ladies."

Scooping one of the prettiest girls on the couch up with his arms, he carried her like a man carries his bride and put her on one of the larger tables. Then, he hopped up onto the table and offered the woman his hand. "May I have this—_hic!__—_dance?" Larten said, trying to control his hiccups. The woman laughed, seeing how drunk he was, but took his hand anyway. They slow-danced all across the table, kicking anything that was on it: food, mugs, wine glasses. Larten swayed uneasily from side to side, trying not to fall off the table. The woman was beaming either because she was dancing with the famous Quicksilver or maybe because she thought it was funny how incredibly drunk he was.

Picking a rose from a flower vase on the table, he put it in his mouth and smirked at his temporary dance partner. Then, he mumbled seductively, "If you can take this rose from me, you get a _special _prize."

Paris chuckled to himself. _Best to leave "Quicksilver" to his business, then, _he thought.


	3. Steve Leopard

3rd Drunkard: **Steve Leopard**

"See, Gannen? You guys are so uptight. We should do this more often," Steve was telling Gannen as they sat on uncomfortable bar stools, taking shots of liquor to no effect.

Gannen shook his head. "I cannot believe we are here when our races are on the brink of _war. _My Lord, do you really think it's wise to—?"

"Shhhhhhh," Steve said, putting a finger on Gannen's lips. "Just shut up and drink. You guys deserve it." He got up and hopped on top of the bar and yelled, "Right?"

The bar erupted with cheers.

"See?" Steve said with a smirk as he sat back down on his stool. "Drink as much as you want; money comes easy for us."

A new round of liquor shots was being passed around.

Steve was gulping one shot after another, not stopping for anything. Soon enough, he had slumped his shoulders and was pouting quietly to himself. Gannen had never seen his Lord drunk, so he just assumed that he got grumpy and pouty.

All of a sudden, after hours of sulking in silence and pounding down shots, Steve said something. Gannen almost jumped when he heard him say, "I need a phone."

Gannen, not knowing what a phone was, slowly inched away from his Lord and tried to blend in with the crowd. This may be the only peace or time off that he'd ever get.

When Steve realized that his nanny wouldn't get him a phone, he scanned the bar for a phone of any kind. When he couldn't find one, he asked the bartender for his. "Sure," he said with a smile as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I've got the new iPhone. I have unlimited minutes so talk as long as you want."

Steve studied the phone. He had forgotten what one had looked like since he'd been away from humans for so long. Nonetheless, old memories clicked back into place and he finally dialed the number and was listening to it ring.

"Hello?" a young girl's voice on the other side of the line asked.

"I love you. I _fucking love you_,"Steve said angrily, putting emphasis on all the words in his last sentence.

"W-who is this?" the girl asked, pure terror in her voice.

"You know damn well who this is!" Steve hissed. "I wanna see my son. I wanna see you. Where the hell are you? _I fucking love you_!" He yelled the last part.

The girl on the other line, Annie Shan, replied coolly, "If you loved me, why'd you leave?"

"I had to," Steve said, pure sorrow and guilt in his voice. "It wasn't my decision!"

On the other side of the line, Annie rolled her eyes. "You're drunk."

"Am not!" Steve shot back, sounding like a little kid.

Annie was laughing now. "Yes, you are. This isn't the first time this has happened. Nice goin'. You had me scared for a second back there."

Steve was getting angry. "Bitch, you better not be laughing at me! _I can fucking kill you. _You want me to do that? I'll take my son back. I'll make your life a living hell!" he roared.

"Oh, I'd like to see you try to find us," Annie said sarcastically. "And you've already made my life a living hell, remember?"

Steve was now hit with shock. "I'm sorry I—"

"Save it," Annie huffed. "Don't call this number again. I'm disconnecting it."

Not knowing what to say, but knowing that she was about to hang up, he said, "I love you."

"I hate you," Annie said cheerfully then hung up.

Steve fumbled with his hands, trying to call the number again. He tried at least five times but Annie didn't answer. She cut off every call. Steve sighed. "I guess she doesn't want to talk," he said out loud, stating the obvious. He slowly trudged back to the bar with his head down. He gave the bartender his iPhone back and mumbled a "Thanks" before sitting back down and ordering more shots.

Gannen, still sober somehow, noticed that Steve had come back and was now making his way over to him. What he saw almost scared him. Steve was… _sad. _He had never seen his Lord _sad _before.

"Is there a problem, my Lord?" he asked, taking a seat next to Steve.

"Girl problems," Steve mumbled as he gulped down another shot. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Gannen let out a sigh of relief. "More drinks, my Lord?"

"Yes," Steve grunted. "I wanna forget this night ever happened."


	4. Gavner Purl

**A little note: Okay, so by popular demand, Gavner's up next! But before you read this, you need to go and read AN AFFAIR OF THE NIGHT WHICH WILL BE FOUND ON THE AUTHOR-DARREN SHAN'S-WEBSITE**. **_GO TO HIS WEBSITE AND CLICK EXTRAS. FROM THERE, SCROLL DOWN UNTIL YOU SEE THE LITTLE MINI-STORIES HE WROTE FOR CIRQUE DU FREAK. ONCE YOU FIND "AFFAIR OF THE NIGHT", READ IT AND WEEP. NO LITERALLY: YOU'LL SERIOUSLY READ IT AND WEEP._ If you do not read this, you will not understand why Gavner reacted this way about his underwear. THE STORY THAT YOU'LL SEE WHEN YOU CLICK THAT LINK IS NOT MINE. IT'S WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR HIMSELF, DARREN SHAN. I HAVE NO CREDIT FOR IT.**

**If you don't read it, you'll keep laughing at Gavner's underwear and if you keep laughing at Gavner's underwear, YOU'RE A HORRIBLE PERSON. ;A;**

**Anyway, enjoy the newest chapter! You guys requested Gavner so here he is! Next up, because you guys requested it too, is Kurda! I already have a plan for him. *evil smirk***

**Oh and thank you for the reviews! ^^ I get so happy when I see them and they motivate me to keep writing this. I'm so glad you all like it! I'll keep it up for you! :D**

**Now onto the story!**

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><p>4th Drunkard: <strong>Gavner Purl<strong>

It was the Festival of the Undead. Even in the middle of Darren's Trials, everyone was relaxed and having a good time. Even Darren himself was partying. If you'd looked at him now, you wouldn't even be able to tell that he was going through deathly trials and could die at any given moment.

Gavner Purl, on the other hand, was drinking himself senseless with some of his General buddies. They were a lively bunch that kept the bar's sound level high. The Generals, like all the other vampires, only ordered barrels of ale. Gavner was in the middle of his third barrel when he remembered a certain insult he had received earlier.

With his fists clenched, he marched over to where Larten Crepsley was drinking and having a good time. He and Darren were laughing and enjoying themselves. As Gavner closed in, he tried to think of what to say. Since his brain wouldn't function, he only hissed, "Laaaarrrtenn."

Larten lazily turned to look at Gavner, met his gaze, looked him up and down, then turned back to Darren and chuckled, "Pink elephant panties."

Gavner's face was a mask of rage. "What did you say?" he asked angrily, somehow managing to pronounce every word right without slurring.

Darren giggled as Larten repeated loudly with a smirk, "Pink elephant panties."

At that second, Gavner's fist slammed into Larten's left cheek.

Since Larten hadn't seen it coming and was woozy from the ale, the punch managed to knock him down. He tried to get up on his wobbly knees. When he finally succeeded and was standing up again, he noticed Gavner's angry expression and frowned.

"Don't _ever _make fun of my boxers again!" he demanded. "A very special woman gave them to me as a gift. If you ever laugh at them again, I'll kick your ass!"

If Larten had been sober, he would've respected Gavner's wish and backed off but since he was horribly drunk, he only smiled and said, "I think Darren put it perfectly when he said 'She has bad taste in boyfriends.'"

In that second, Gavner tackled him back to the ground. A circle formed around them and everyone began chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" The two were putting each other in headlocks, arm bars, and all the other wrestling moves in the book. They didn't even stick to wrestling, either. They threw punches here and there, kicked each other, held onto each other's hair.

After a while, they started yelling embarrassing things.

"How could you make fun of my underwear? You know I love pink elephants!"

"How could I _not _laugh at _pink elephants_?"

"At least I actually _had _a girl I was committed to!"

"I was what the humans call a 'pimp.' I'm sure it is much better than only having _one_ woman!"

"Oh really? A pimp? Then where are your bitches?"

"I left them at bars in the human world!"

"What pimp would abandon his bitches?"

"A _vampire _pimp!"

"You say that like it's better than being a Prince!"

"It probably _is _better than being a Prince! I actually get ladies!"

"It's no fun when they're all bitches. Aren't they just with you for money?"

"Hell no! They all _love _me!"

Gavner bats his eyelashes like a flirtatious woman. "They love your money."

"How dare you insult my bitches!"

"How dare you insult _the love of my life_!"

Since fighting was a normal scene during the Festival of the Undead, this fight sparked many others and soon, the bar was filled with nothing but men fighting each other. Larten and Gavner fought until they both got lazy and too sluggish from the ale. When they couldn't fight anymore, they simply glared at each other and went their separate ways in the Mountain.

In the morning, they had forgotten all about it.

That is, until they heard the rumors.


	5. Kurda Smahlt

**Hey! :D I told you I'd put up the Kurda story next. xD You guys requested it, so here it is!**

**I'm SO SO SO SORRY if this insults Kurda in any way. ;A; I just thought my idea was funny. DON'T KILL ME! D: IT'S A JOKE!**

**On a happier note, you guys are so supportive :D thank you so much for the reviews and suggestions! You've really helped!**

**Well, enough of me talking. xD Just read the story and tell me what you think.**

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><p>5th Drunkard: <strong>Kurda Smahlt<strong>

"Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug!"

With a smirk on his usually sweet face, Kurda Smahlt took his tiny shot glass and chugged the clear liquid. He made a face as if he'd just shoved a sour candy in his mouth. He shook his head rapidly from side to side as if trying to shake off the flavor of the drink. It must've worked for him because his face went back to normal and he stated proudly, "All right, twenty one in a row!"

A loud cheer came from everyone in the bar. Strangely enough, Kurda was the only vampire in the bar. Everyone else was a purple-skinned, red-eyed vampaneze. They decided to take Kurda with them to the bar. Their crazy Lord—the one known as Steve Leopard—insisted. Perhaps it was because Kurda was on good terms with the vampaneze and their Lord.

Speak of the devil, Steve himself came up to Kurda, slung his arm around his shoulders and said, "Dude, I totally _dare _you to get a tattoo!"

A sober Kurda would've rejected this idea, but twenty one shots of vodka is enough to make even a vampire tipsy. Without even thinking, Kurda smiled his usual, sweet smile and answered, "You bet! Let's go!"

"Great! 'Atta boy!" Steve praised with a laugh. "There's a tattoo place right next door. C'mon, fellas! Our good buddy Kurda wants to get a tattoo!"

"Yeah!" Kurda agreed. "Let's go!"

**In the tattoo parlor**

"Okay so, where do ya want yer tattoo?"

"Hmmmmm," Kurda mumbled, scratching his chin. He smiled and remembered a popular place where he frequently saw tattoos. "On the lower side of my back."

The tattoo artist stood puzzled for a moment, then it hit him. "Y'mean…" he tried not to laugh. "On yer _ass_?"

Kurda just nodded. He hadn't been paying attention.

The tattoo artist gathered his instruments while trying not to burst into laughter.

"Okay sir, I'm gonna need you to lift yer shirt and drop yer pants a little."

Kurda simply took off his shirt completely and let his pants sag like a gangster's.

"Perfect," the artist said quietly, still fighting the giggles. He grabbed his needle and then remembered something important. "What would you like your tattoo to be of?" he asked, expecting some other stupid answer.

Kurda simply said, "I like bunnies."

The artist, now on the verge of falling over with laughter, pulled out a picture of a tattoo of a bunny that he had drawn on a different person. He showed the picture to Kurda and asked, "Is this bunny okay?"

Kurda nodded. "Perfect!" he said cheerfully.

"All right," the artist said with a grin as he started on the tattoo.

**A few months later when Kurda got busted**

"Kurda Smahlt, you have defied us. You are a traitor. I assume you know what that means."

Kurda simply nodded sadly, staring at the floor.

"Take him away to the Hall of Death."

The guards seized Kurda suddenly and stripped him bare. This was nothing new. Even though this was to be expected and most of the people seated in the courtroom had already seen something like this happen before, something made them stop in their tracks.

"What… is _that_?" Arrow asked in disbelief.

Kurda, now standing there completely bare and exposed, was just as surprised as the rest of the courtroom. "What?" he asked. "What is it?"

"That… _thing _on your backside," Mr. Crepsley mumbled.

Kurda tried to turn around and see, but he couldn't.

Darren gasped out loud. "I've seen it before! It's… it's…" He blushed furiously.

"What is it, Darren? Spit it out," Mr. Crepsley grunted.

"It's… the Playboy bunny!" Darren gasped.

Everyone in the courtroom mumbled nervously, not knowing what he meant.

"Darren, what do you mean by that?" Mr. Crepsley asked curiously, cocking an eyebrow.

"It's the Playboy bunny! That means…" Darren shuffled his feet nervously. He found his feet very entertaining and wouldn't look away from them. "Um, well, it stands for… a club… of um, n-naked women," Darren said in almost a whisper.

Then Kurda remembered. The fancy bunny! Well, at the time he got it, he _assumed_ it was fancy.

The courtroom gasped. Everyone was mumbling about Kurda being a pervert.

"I was drunk!" Kurda cried, trying to defend himself. "I didn't plan this! I didn't even know what it was! I just… I just liked bunnies." He stared at the floor in embarrassment again.

"I think this is enough," Arrow barked, silencing the court. "Just take this traitor away. I don't wanna see this… bunny anymore."

And with that, Kurda was escorted down the hall and into the Hall of Death.

He cried silently. It wasn't because of Steve. It wasn't because of the bunny.

It was because he was a traitor but he had tried to help. No one understood.

Before he got to the Hall of Death and before his brain began to think hard about what he'd done to his own clan, one random thought rung through his head.

_Damn that Steve Leopard! As if life wasn't bad enough already!_


	6. Vancha March

**Before you go on and read more of my stupidity, I have one thing to say: I AM SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY! D:**

**I know, I know: I'm suuuuper late with this chapter. ;A; I'm sorry! I got caught up with school, vacation, homeowork...**

**Point is, I got all busy. That and, for some reason, writer's block hit me. o_o I have no idea why.**

**So, please forgive me? :O I hope nobody's mad or anything, so I hope you enjoy this!**

**I'm sorry for the wait!**

**^ Hehehe, Lil Wayne said the same thing a little while ago. xD**

**Okay, read on and have your mind BLOWN.**

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><p>6th Drunkard: <strong>Vancha March<strong>

"Hey, Bartender! Bring another round, would ya?"

Vancha March, the wildest of the Vampire Princes, was busy in the bar, emptying all the barrels of ale. Of course, old friends that he hadn't seen in decades due to his native life had joined him. They were having a good time so far as everyone slowly began to get tipsier and tipsier. Nothing over-the-top or crazy had happened. Well, at least not yet.

"Fellas, did any of y'all notice how friggin' _hot _it is in here?" Vancha asked, sounding overdramatic.

A few grumbles came from his crowd of friends. One replied, "That's 'cuz I'm here!" and that resulted in the whole crowd laughing. Vancha smirked.

Unexpectedly, Vancha ripped off the animal hides he'd been wearing as a shirt. "You faggots better not be likin' this!" he bellowed with a laugh.

Of course, none of his friends were "faggots"—all of them liked women—but none of them could hold back their laughter as Vancha ripped off his hides and tried to dance like a professional stripper. In fact, some even joined in.

Vancha eventually got bored of the dirty dancing. He was down to his "underwear" (also made of animal skins) and was running out of ideas. He looked around the room frantically as he absent-mindedly pelvic-thrusted at the empty air.

Then he saw it: the bartender who came back to his table, bringing another round of barrels full of ale. Above his head, a little light-bulb flickered on and he had a genius idea on what he would do next.

He seized a barrel before any of his fellow strippers could get it and used his other hand to pull a chair from the table. Then, he sat on the table and prepared for the sexiest thing yet.

He ripped the lid off the barrel, then sat down in the empty chair. He held the barrel up high above his head and stared up at it. His brilliant plan took a few seconds to register from his brain to his limbs, but he finally managed to do it. He tilted the barrel, leaned back in his chair closed his eyes, and let the ale spill all over him like a modern shower he never took.

As soon as the vampires heard the splash, they turned to look at what was happening. The ale was still spilling over Vancha since the barrel was so large, so all of the vampires in the bar caught a glimpse of him pouring it all over his almost-naked body. This pose, which looked like it belonged in a movie, stayed for a few more seconds until the ale was drained. By the time the last few drops of ale were still spilling on Vancha, all of the vampires in the room were silent and frozen, only interested in Vancha and his "sexy" pose.

The last few drops of ale hit him. Some dripped over his strong abs, but the final drop that seemed to fall in slow motion was headed straight for his face. Vancha squinted and saw the drop falling. He opened his mouth wide and let the last drop of ale fall on his tongue dramatically.

When the drop landed in his mouth, he threw the barrel aside, jumped on the chair he'd been sitting on, and hollered, "Now, ain't that sexy?"

The bar erupted with a mix of applause, laughter, and cheering. All of the vampires reacted as if they were witnessing an amazing concert for the first time.

Vancha still didn't feel like it was enough to satisfy him. So, in an attempt to do a victory dance, his legs began to move without him thinking. He stuck his left leg up like a flamingo then brought it down and dragged it across the floor. He looked as though he was trying to do the famous Moonwalk but was failing miserably. He stood in one place, dragging his feet across the floor, looking as though he was trying to walk.

One of his buddies came up to him as he was dancing and slapped him on the back. "Man, Vancha, that was _hilarious! _You gotta do that again sometime it really—" He cut himself off, realizing that Vancha was still dancing and not paying attention to him. "Vancha?" he asked, cocking his brow, confused. "Whattya doin'?"

"Shuffling," Vancha replied, staring down at his feet. He didn't plan this dance and certainly didn't plan a name for it. That was just the first word that he used to describe it.

His friend laughed. "That looks friggin' stupid!" he said.

"It's fun," Vancha replied simply, looking up to meet his friends eyes. He smiled.

"Shuffling, huh?" his friend asked with a smile. "I can't imagine anyone who'd wanna dance like that."

And yet, to this day, the art of shuffling has been passed down from generation to generation and for some odd reason, the kids of the present time still dance this way, no matter how stupid it looks.


	7. Paris Skyle

7th Drunkard: **Paris Skyle**

"_Darren, if you ever want to hear one of Paris's amazing stories about his life, wait for him to get drunk. Once he's drunk, you can ask him anything you want. Trust me, he'll answer."_

Darren thought about this as he sat there at the Festival of the Undead without a mug. He'd learned his lesson a night earlier and now, he avoided any more mugs for the moment. His hangover had knocked some sense into him.

Since he didn't want to get drunk and suffer a hangover, he thought about something else that would keep him entertained for the rest of the night. His mind kept going back to that one statement that someone had told him earlier. Who had it been? It must've been Seba. Those two had known each other for so long.

When he was sure that Seba was the one that had told him this, he decided to try it. After all, Seba wasn't one to tell a lie and there was no doubt in Darren's mind that his master's master had seen the one and only Paris Skyle in his drunk state. They were close, so he must've asked him questions about his full eight hundred years of life and gotten some kind of answer. Why not just try it? The worst the elderly vampire could do was refuse and since he was drunk, he probably wouldn't remember that Darren had even asked such a pointless question the next night anyway. He'd be too focused on dealing with the hellish hangover.

Darren mustered up his courage, took in a deep breath and made his way across the bar. Paris, no matter how elderly he was, was definitely not one to back down from a challenge. At the moment, he was in the middle of a drinking contest. He was gulping down a barrel of ale faster than Darren ever thought was possible. For a moment, the curious young vampire stopped in his tracks and watched the oldest living vampire beat all of the youngsters at drinking. Darren found this very impressive.

"Um, excuse me, can I ask a question?"

Paris sluggishly looked over his shoulder. Darren had waited for Paris's drinking contest to finish before he dared to ask out loud, but that didn't soothe the nervous feeling he had growing in his stomach. For a second, Paris glared over his shoulder and looked angry and Darren was about to turn around and make a run for it before he could scold him. He was about to turn when he saw Paris's features soften. He smiled. "Ah, Darren Shan, it's only you."

Either the old vampire was going blind, or ale affected eyesight.

"C-can I um, ask you a question?" Darren asked nervously.

"Of course you can. There's nothing wrong with a curious mind!" Paris said warmly with a smile.

Darren took a hesitant step forward. Paris didn't sound drunk one bit. For a horrifying second, Darren thought he wasn't drunk at all. What if Paris didn't _get _drunk at all? Well, he had to try. This may be his only chance to ask the ancient vampire about his miraculous life.

"What would you like to ask me, Darren?" Paris asked.

Darren took a seat next to the vampire, and prepared to ask his question. He took a few moments to figure out just what he was going to say. You don't just mess with the oldest vampire without thinking first.

"What was your life like?" he finally asked.

Paris froze. He had gone into shock. Darren flinched, thinking that he would get that scolding after all. The look on Paris's face told Darren right away that this wasn't the smartest thing to do. He prepared for a lecture or a smack, but when it didn't happen, he just sat there awkwardly, trying not to stare at Paris.

"My life is a long, boring tale," Paris said with a shrug, sipping at his barrel.

"Can you tell me part of it?" Darren pressed, gaining confidence now that he knew he wasn't going to be scolded. "What about the part where you met Shakespeare?"

Paris stopped suddenly. His eyes narrowed and he furrowed his brows, obviously deep in thought. Darren wasn't impatient and he knew how hard it was to think when you were drunk. It must've been harder for the vampire since he was older and Darren had asked about a part of his life that had happened hundreds of years ago.

"Shakespeare was… not what people think he is," Paris finally said slowly.

"What do you mean?" Darren asked, confused.

"They say that Shakespeare was a genius, but if you ask me, I'd say he was crazy."

"Crazy?" Darren gasped. "Why?"

"Have you _read _the shit that he writes? Unbelievable," Paris said, shaking his head.

"Well, I didn't read much but—"

"Exactly! You wouldn't really know. Children of this generation normally don't. Well, I had to drink his blood and save a part of his soul. It's still within me as we speak. What I'm trying to explain is that no one really had an inside look at the man's brain. It's crazier than a bear after drinking vampaneze blood."

Darren nodded, listening intently and waiting for more.

"The man had a very creative brain, yes, one of the best, but now that I posses it… it's… become a pain. His memories are painful, his ideas are _insane, _and I get random urges to write things! I do not even know how to write!"

Darren tried not to giggle. Paris and Mr. Crepsley couldn't write! What a laugh!

"However," Paris went on, "there _is _one thing that's enjoyable about his memorites."

"What is it?" Darren asked eagerly.

"His wife," Paris said with a smirk. "I'd tap _that._"

Darren's hand flew to his mouth in an attempt to muffle his uncontrollable giggles.

"I mean, no wonder he married her! I've been with the bitches in the bars for _years _Darren, and not once had I seen a woman like her. In eight hundred years, she's the hottest thing I've ever seen. Isn't that crazy?" He nudged Darren with his elbow as if he expected Darren to understand what he meant.

"I-I bet it was s-s-surprising," Darren stuttered, holding back laughter.

"Yeah," Paris sighed. He gulped down more ale and muttered, "I need to find me a bad bitch before I drop down dead."

Darren could barely hear it, but he did and he couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" Paris asked with a laugh. "You're too young to understand!"

Darren wiped away some tears of laughter. "I guess you're right."

"Exactly. Once you find a bad bitch, you'll get what I mean." Paris winked. "Or ask Larten."

Darren exploded in giggles.

That was probably the best advice he'd ever taken in his half-vampire life.


	8. Mika Ver Leth

8th Drunkard: **Mika Ver Leth**

Mika wasn't always a grouch.

It all must've started a little bit before Larten Crepsley's first visit to Vampire Mountain. Mika was still young and spunky. The young vampire was looking forward to the Festival of the Undead. He couldn't wait to show off his fighting power and, more importantly, his voice.

It was the first night of the Festival. The games were about to begin but that didn't interest Mika. The raven-haired youngster walked with pride down the Halls and into one of the gaming rooms—the only room with a giant sign on the door that read: HOWLING CONTEST.

Mika sighed blissfully. He knew this would be a piece of cake. He stumbled his way into the room awkwardly. Vampires of all shapes and sizes were already gathered round, waiting for the last remaining contestants to show up before the real action began.

They stopped to stare at Mika. After all, how could an emo-looking newbie beat _them_? But of course, this was just another way that Mika would prove them wrong.

As soon as time ran out for more contestants to show up, the real howling contest began. On the mark of the judge, every contestant was to howl and continue to howl without stopping for as long as possible. Whoever was the last man still howling would not only earn respect, but every time you spoke the winner's name, you must add "of the Howl" after.

Mika never liked to talk much. He knew that he could hold his breath for a long amount of time but letting it all out would be an all-new experience. He didn't expect to get very far, but as soon as the judge announced, "GO!" he found it very easy to continue to howl.

Minutes passed. More and more vampires were dropping out. Mika was short and scrawny but his lungs proved to be strong and full of air. Most of the bigger vampires gave up when their throats began to hurt. They left the "kiddie contest" with a laugh and went on elsewhere to enjoy other barbaric games where they could freely rip each other to pieces.

But Mika refused to give up. He howled his heart out long after his throat began to hurt. It seemed like his lungs would burst at any moment. His vocal cords were prepared to rip in half. His throat was throbbing with a fiery pain. But he did not move. He kept his mouth wide open, head pointed to the roof of the cave, feet glued to the floor and his fists clenched. More time passed. Only a handful of the vampires were left. More were dropping like flies.

The last contestant was running on will-power alone. It was only him and Mika left. The other vampire was burly, tall and definitely had a huge, long-lasting pair of lungs. That didn't stop Mika. In fact, Mika howled even _louder _than before! The two were neck-and-neck. Only one would win.

Just when Mika was sure that he couldn't take it any longer, just when he was about to give up and let the other vampire win the title, the muscular vampire fainted! He must've used up all of his oxygen on howling alone. Mika was pronounced winner. He stood there with pride as the one and only Paris Skyle praised Mika with the title "of the Howl." He was now to be known as Mika of the Howl.

_Mika of the Howl. _That had a nice ring to it.

Only moments later, Mika's friends and opponents carried Mika on their shoulders and took him to one of the many bars located within the Mountain. All of them were thirsty but none could possibly be thirstier than Mika. His lips were chapped, his throat was dry and the thought of any sort of drink to enter his mouth was heavenly.

When they arrived, a table had already been set aside for them and they quickly got to drinking. At first, Mika hated the taste of bitter ale. Reluctantly, he kept ordering it over and over. Ale, ale, ale. He couldn't get enough. It quenched his thirst but at the same time, only made it worse. He had to have more.

In his drunken haze, he realized something he hadn't noticed before: there were barely any women. It was shocking to him since he never bothered to think about it before. He scanned the area for the slightest trace of female existence. With his eyes squinted, he concentrated hard on finding a beautiful vampire woman.

Suddenly, he saw her: a beautiful vampire woman all alone in one corner. She was tall and slender, had wonderful curves and a curtain of wavy black hair that shimmered in the dim light. Mika's heart was racing and he was struggling to find his breath. She was _stunning_. It was such a shame that she was sitting all by herself in the corner of the bar.

Without thinking, Mika spit in his hands, ran his wet hand through his shoulder-length, raven-black hair and stood up. He stumbled as he rose from his chair, but that didn't worry him. He was terrified of the woman but at the same time, he was entranced. It was like he was under her spell.

As he walked across the bar, his eyesight became more and more foggy. He couldn't quite see the woman very clearly, but he remembered that she was wearing a large amount of red. So instead of focusing on her hair or face, he focused on the red.

He made it across the bar in good time. Even though he'd stumbled and almost tripped a million times, he mentally congratulated himself for successfully getting across the room. Then, putting all other thoughts aside, he thought of what he would say to the woman. When he roughly had an idea of what to say, he closed the distance between them.

He slid in front of her slyly. He was on her right side and was also facing the right side of the bar. He stuck his elbow out and placed it on the bar. He leaned on his elbow. The girl turned in her seat. Mika began to talk.

"What's yer name, gurl? What's a gurl like you doin' sittin' here all alone?"

"_Mika?_" the red figure screeched in a deep voice. "Charna's guts! What are you _doing_?"

Mika was hurt by the girl's harsh words. He paused for a moment. That voice was familiar. He rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, instead of seeing the beautiful vampire girl, he saw an annoyed, confused and angry _Larten Crepsley_!

Mika gasped. "Larten? My apologies. I didn't mean to… I thought you were—"

"Mika," Larten interrupted, "do not explain this to me until you are completely sober."

With that, Larten stood up and walked away.

Mika sighed and shook his head. He'd made a fool out of himself. He couldn't talk to that woman now that his confidence and manly pride had been drained.

Then he turned to look at the left side of the bar and spotted the woman! She was still sitting there alone and she obviously hadn't heard the embarrassing thing that he had said to Larten. Hope blossomed within Mika's chest. He could still talk to her!

With a sly smirk on his face, he repeated the exact same procedure that he had accidently done to Larten just moments before. The girl turned to look at him as he clumsily bumped into the bar and propped his elbow on it. She looked annoyed. Despite her annoyed look, she was still stunning so Mika went on.

"What's yer name, gurl? What's a gurl like you doin' sittin' here all alone?"

The woman scowled. "Arra Sails," she grumbled in annoyance.

"Arra," Mika repeated. He used his Spanish accent. "_Arrrra,_" he said, rolling his "r".

Arra rolled her eyes. "And I am _not _sitting here alone. I'm waiting for someone."

"C'mon, baby," Mika slurred. "Who can be better than _this_?" he asked as he gestured to his entire body in general.

"Everyone," Arra sniffed.

"Don't be like that, baby," Mika pleaded. "How 'bout I getcha a drink?"

"No," Arra growled.

"Aww, c'mon! It's on _me._" He winked.

Arra went bright red with embarrassment. "How _dare _you suggest such things you filthy—!"

"Ahhh, a feisty one," he purred seductively. "That's just how I like 'em."

"Must I repeat myself? I am _waiting _for someone!" Arra protested.

"Then they can wait," Mika purred as he inched closer to Arra and pinned her to the corner.

Arra had too much pride to call out for help. Instead, she hissed, "I'll _kill _you."

Mika just chuckled. "C'mon baby, lemme show you why they call me _Mika of the Howl_."

Just as Mika was leaning in closer, someone tapped his shoulder.

He turned around, ready to lash out at whoever dared to interrupt this glorious moment.

What he saw next was enough to give him a heart attack.

For the second time that night, he ran into a furious _Larten Crepsley_!

"You fool! What are you _doing_?" Larten boomed.

Mika smirked. "Scorin' with the ladies. What are _you _doing?"

And that was when Larten's fist met Mika's face.

This is why the two young vampires never got along.


End file.
